Nightworld (Adversary Cycle/Repairman Jack) (25 page)

“But how’s that thing going to get back into the hole at sunrise?”

“They don’t have to. They can keep to the nightside and stay ahead of sunrise as they roam the skies.” He looked up at the stars. “Do you know the constellations?”

“Not really. The Big Dipper, maybe, but—”

“I do. And they’ve changed. Those aren’t the same stars up there as last night.”

Outside, another whining howl began to issue from the hole.

“Here comes another,” Glaeken said.

Part of Bill wanted to pull the curtains, shut off the TV, and crawl under the couch. But another part had to watch. He dragged a chair up to the window and waited in horrid fascination to see what would happen next.

WFPW-FM

Reports are filtering in from around the globe, especially from Europe where nightfall occurs hours ahead of ours. All the new holes that opened during the day are spewing forth swarms of creatures tonight, just like the ones that caused such devastation in our town last night. The reports also describe four species now—two more than we saw around here. Some of the local reports say the infestation is particularly heavy on Long Island …

Monroe, Long Island

Trembling, Sylvia hurried through the growing darkness, crying out,
screaming
Jeffy’s name. But only the faint echo of her own voice answered. She was panting from the unaccustomed exertion.

Suddenly a red pickup roared around the curve ahead. Rudy—and God, could that be a little blond head peering through the windshield from the passenger seat? Sylvia ran into the street and narrowly missed being hit as the pickup swerved into the curb.

Rudy grinned as he hopped out of the cab and came around the front of his truck. “I hope this is him, Mrs. Nash. ’Cause if he ain’t, somebody’s gonna have me up on kidnappin’ charges sure.”

Sylvia, weak-kneed with relief and fighting tears, said, “No, that’s him.” She pulled open the passenger door and reached for Jeffy. “I don’t know how to thank you.”

“Found him
way
down the road there, truckin’ along like he had someplace real important to go.”

She hugged the child against her. “Oh, Jeffy, Jeffy, you had me so worried!”

“I want to go see Glaeken.”

“You can’t right now, honey. We’ve got to get back to the house so those”—what had the old man called them?—“so those chew wasps don’t get us.”

“But Glaeken needs me.”

Sylvia held him tighter. Something unholy about this child’s attraction to that old man.

Rudy laughed. “Kids. Aren’t they somethin’? Who’s Glaeken? A little friend of his? Must really want to see him bad. I damn near had to drag your little guy into my truck to get him back here. I guess you’ve drilled it into him not to—”

Something
whizzed
between them. Rudy jerked his head back.

“What the hell was that?”

Sylvia cringed and wrapped her arms around Jeffy.

“It’s a chewer bug, Mom!”

Another of the things sailed by. Rudy ducked but not quite fast enough. The creature knocked his Giants cap askew. He took it off and gawked at the piece bitten out of the beak.

“Christ!”

“Run, Jeffy!” Sylvia cried. “We’ve got to get home!”

Rudy grabbed her arm before they could get moving.

“Into the truck! I’ll drive you back!”

Sylvia pushed Jeffy ahead of her into the cab, slammed the door behind her, and rolled up the window. Rudy hopped into the driver seat and yanked on the gearshift. The pickup lurched forward.

“Close your window, Rudy!”

He flashed her a lopsided smile. “It don’t go up.”

“Then I think you’d better plan on staying at our place tonight.”

“Nah! Ain’t no buncha bugs gonna keep me from goin’ home. I don’t care how big they are. They’re only—what the fuck?”

He downshifted and the pickup lurched to a slower speed. They were almost to Toad Hall, but up ahead something was floating across the road—a group of somethings. They reminded Sylvia of the belly flies from last night, only these things were much bigger. Football-sized sacs sat atop their bodies like transparent balloons. Double dragonfly wings jutted from their sides, and long gray tendrils dangled below. They looked like a school of airborne Portuguese men-of-war.

Rudy swerved to try to go around the floating phalanx, but the balloonlike creatures banked toward the pickup. The front tire on the passenger side caromed off the Belgian block curb, violently bouncing Sylvia and Jeffy in the seat, and veering the truck toward the hovering men-of-war.

The pickup slammed into them, splattering the hood and windshield with ruptured sacs, broken wings, and gray fluid.

“Yeah!” Rudy shouted. “That’ll show ’em!”

He hit the windshield wiper switch but the blades were jammed under the debris.

“Damn! Can’t see.”

He slowed the truck to a crawl, stuck his head out the window, and reached around to the windshield.

“No!” Sylvia cried. “Rudy, don’t—!”

His scream cut her off. He jerked his head and arm back but a mass of gray tendrils came with him. They were alive, writhing, twisting, curling, crawling along Rudy’s arm to his shoulder, reaching for his face. Close up like this Sylvia could see the tendrils were lined with tiny suckers, like octopus tentacles, except these were rimmed with tiny teeth, and in the center of each was a pale, curling tongue. The teeth were drawing blood as they moved, and the tongues were lapping it up.

Rudy looked at her, his eyes wide with pain and terror. He opened his mouth, whether to say something or scream again, Sylvia never knew, for another mass of tentacles swept through the open window and engulfed his head, the tips plunging into his mouth and worming into his nostrils. She had one last glimpse of his bulging eyes, and then he was pulled kicking and flailing through the side window.

As Jeffy’s scream mingled with her own, the pickup stalled and jerked dead. Sylvia pulled the handle at her side and kicked the door. As it opened a mass of tentacles and broken wings slid off the roof. The tentacles reached for her as they fell past but she pulled back in time to avoid them. Then, grabbing Jeffy, she leapt out and they crouched beside the front wheel.

The darkening air was alive with flying things and thrummed with the low-pitched hum of their wings as they darted and swooped about the pickup.

Sylvia rose warily and looked about for Rudy. She froze at the sight of a huge, ungainly, twisting shape rising slowly on the far side of the hood—a cluster of a dozen or so men-of-war, their float sacs bumping one another, their tentacles a writhing gorgonian mass, slithering about on—

Sylvia groaned as she recognized Rudy’s boots and denimed legs protruding from the lower end of the mass, his toes dangling three or four feet above the pavement. His head and torso were engulfed in the hungry tangle of squirming, feeding tentacles. As she watched, the legs kicked feebly once, twice, then shuddered and hung limp in the air.

Rudy! Oh, dear God, poor Rudy!

Prompted by the breeze, the floating, feeding mass began a slow drift down the twilit street.

Sylvia swiveled, frantically looking for a hiding place, wondering if they might not be better off in the cab of the truck. Across the street she spotted a corner of the wall that surrounded Toad Hall. Farther down the sidewalk the wrought-iron gate stood open.

Jeffy was still crouched by the tire. She pulled him to his feet and pushed him around the front of the truck ahead of her.

“Run, Jeffy! Run for the wall!”

Crouching over him as a shield, she propelled him ahead of her across the street toward the wall; when they reached its base, they raced for the gate, hugging the stones as they ran. Belly flies and chew wasps circled about with another new species, similar to the chewers in size but equipped with a spear-shaped head. Most were winging toward Toad Hall. Apparently the bugs hadn’t spotted them in the shadows. But that would change once they got through the gate. She and Jeffy would be completely exposed in the open stretch along the driveway between the gate and the willows. But she forced that out of her mind for the moment. She’d worry about it when the time came. First they had to reach the gate.

Something moved in her peripheral vision and she glanced right. Men-of-war, three of them, in the middle of the street opposite the gate, their long trailing tendrils curling and uncurling with hungry anticipation as they glided her way with graceful, deadly purpose.

They’ve spotted us!

Stifling a scream, she caught Jeffy under the arms and lifted him, carrying him ahead of her as she threw every ounce of strength and will into her pumping legs. She had to reach the gate before those things cut her off. Suddenly a belly fly was swooping toward her face. She ducked, stumbled, regained her balance and kept running.

But the men-of-war were closer. They were slow but they had the angle on her. Sylvia moaned softly as she realized she wasn’t going to beat them to the gate.

Only three will live to return.

The words crawled across her mind. Were they going to prove true? Was she the one who wasn’t going to make it? Or would it be Jeffy?

Her limbs responded to the horror of seeing Jeffy end like Rudy and she picked up speed. Her arms were throbbing, her lungs burned with the unaccustomed exertion, her legs wanted to fold under her, but she pushed it.

Almost there!

But so were the men-of-war. Seeing them closing, Sylvia pushed her speed up a final desperate notch. They were so close she could smell their foul carrion odor. The tendrils swept forward through the air, reaching for her. She screamed in horror and despair of making it as she ducked and rounded the gatepost corner with only inches to spare.

A sob of relief was bursting free in her throat when something tangled in her hair and yanked her back. She pushed Jeffy ahead of her.

“Run home, Jeffy!”

He started to obey her, but when he glanced over his shoulder he stopped and screamed.

“Mommy! It’s got you!”

“Jeffy! Run for the house! Please!”

But he stood rooted to the spot, transfixed with horror.

Sylvia reached back and felt a clump of slimy tentacles tangled in her hair, worming toward her scalp. A few wrapped around her fingers and she felt the sharp bite of the suckers, the rasping licks of the tiny tongues before she snatched her hand free. To her right and left she saw other men-of-war sailing her way, their hungry, questing tendrils extended toward her face. She had a sudden vision of herself as a floating corpse like Rudy.

It’s me! she thought. I’m the one who’s not going to make it!

She ducked as they closed in on her, her scalp blazing with pain as the thing in her hair tried to hold her back. The tentacles of the others were only inches away now, reaching for her face. She put her hands up to swat them away but they became entangled and trapped. Frantically she yanked and twisted but couldn’t pull free. She felt the bites, felt her blood flow, felt the tiny tongues begin to lap. But she bottled her screams. She wouldn’t let those tentacles reach into her mouth like they did Rudy’s. As they climbed up her arm, her vision swam, darkened. The earth seemed to tilt under her—

She heard a
crunch
and suddenly the tentacles sheathing her right hand and forearm loosened their grip. She yanked free and stared.

The creature was sagging toward the driveway, its float sac ruptured, its wings broken and fluttering futilely. And then she realized she was not alone.

“Ba!”

He towered over her in the dimness, his clothes torn and bloody, swinging his razor-toothed billy club. Another
crunch
and the tentacles clutching her left hand spasmed and loosened their grip enough for her to pull free.

“Hold still, Missus,” he said, and he swung his club at her head.

Sylvia winced instinctively, heard a third crunch behind her, and then her hair was free. Ba pulled her forward. She needed no further encouragement. She picked up Jeffy and started to run.

The air was alive with buzzing, soaring, biting
things.
Fully alerted to their presence now, the bugs were all around her and Jeffy. Wings brushed her face and hair, jaws clicked on empty air as they narrowly missed her. They’d have had no hope without Ba. He took the lead, running tall, daring the creatures to attack him as he slashed left and right with his club. Sylvia clung to the back of his coat, awed by his reflexes, by the length of his reach, and by his seeming ability to see in the dark. Maybe he struck at the sound of the things. Whatever his method, he was clearing a path for them through the winged horrors.